


been missing you

by shepherd



Series: libnyx week [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Exhaustion, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Break Up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, or at least.....hopeful ending???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: A smile spread across her face. Tiny, barely existent. “He will be safe with you?”Libertus almost laughed. They had been together for a long time. Raised down the winding roads from each other, down the hall at school. Only ever an arm’s length apart at worst, sharing the same bed, the same food. Never once had they been safe. Safety didn’t exist.He would not say it to her face.





	been missing you

“As much as I wanna beat your ass right now,” Libertus drawled as he pulled the sliding door closed, casting a quick glance aside to check he hadn’t disturbed the slumbering princess curled up in bed, sound asleep. The damn door creaked, the camper groaning underneath the combined weight of two grown men cowering away in a cramped bathroom. It was not worth the amount of gil they had paid. Lunafreya had parted with her beautiful earrings so they could scrounge gil together, Libertus only having a handful of crowns in his pocket. It was theirs for a night. Any longer and Libertus might have been driven wild in his cabin fever. “I am proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

For a while no response came. His companion had better things to do; namely, pillow his head against Libertus’ chest and try to remember how to breathe. Arms had loosely wrapped themselves around Libertus’ waist. Through the thin fabric of his tank he could feel Nyx breathe. Their only solace was how it came warm and steady. A small blessing, Libertus thought. Over the years Libertus had come to know the gratitude of just having Nyx alive by his side all too well.

He had caught himself constantly listening out for signs of life the whole journey. The atmosphere in the car had been tense - once, for an awful moment, he thought he heard Lunafreya sniffling in the back seat. When he glanced through the rearview mirror he found her solemn. Her expression was cast in deep shadow, naturally watery eyes downcast. Beside him, Nyx dozed fitfully. None of them spoke a single world. Sunset came in silence, and Libertus made the decision to pull over when no one else seemed willing to lead.

Whenever even a minor hitch in Nyx’s breathing pattern came Libertus would always reach out, caress Nyx’s filthy hair. One hand on the steering wheel, one drawing through the tangled mess. It was difficult to keep his eyes on the road. Worry had tortured him every single heartbeat.

From the moment they left, arriving anonymous and insignificant outside of the smoldering city Nyx’s body had been slowly giving up. From the car it culminated quickly. Barely five steps from the caravan and Nyx misstepped, stumbling and slumping against whoever was closest. That had been Lunafreya, pressed close and fretting over the extent of his wounds, and she had not taken the extra weight well.

_ Oh _ , she had said helplessly, and almost hit the ground. Admirably enough she had managed to keep the two of them on their feet until Libertus swept in, freeing her. The woman was waiflike, unable to support the weight of an exhausted man when she was battered and bruised herself. She may not have bled, but Libertus knew. The princess was finished for the night. Even Libertus was feeling the strain - but he would remain strong, for them both. As long as they needed him to.

Now Nyx only turned his head further into him, sweaty cheek against the exposed skin of Libertus’ chest. Muck and blood smeared against him. As Nyx’s entire body deflated down to nothingness, eyes long since closed, he laughed. Libertus knew Nyx’s laughter. This was not in the least bit genuine. “I’d be more convinced if you hadn’t been yelling at me earlier. Like you always do when… when I’ve done something stupid.”

Most of his words had slurred together. A few made no sense. It took Libertus a few moments to translate. It didn’t help that Nyx spoke directly into his chest and didn’t show any signs of wanting to move. Libertus felt rather than heard the rumble of his voice.

His proximity made Libertus’ heart soar. Everything else made him ache. But he didn’t waver. “Can’t I be proud and furious at the same time?”

Those two had been aligned for as long as Libertus could remember. Nyx had been starting fights in bars since he was old enough to drink, defending the vulnerable and ending up with broken bones because of it. A poorly healed bone meant the long line of Nyx’s nose was uneven and swollen. It didn’t matter, after. Libertus would press kisses over it and Nyx would squirm and laugh and it was fine. At the time it was ruination. Blood gushing from Nyx’s face as some drunk guard howled slurs and Libertus having to shove through the room, barking for others to  _ get the hell out of his way. _

Libertus had held his hand all the way to the medicentre. Nyx had smiled like it had been his plan all along.

Nyx hummed. Those arms pulled only tighter. It took everything inside Libertus not to cradle him, hold him securely and stroke through those dark strands. Home was gone. The person who made it feel like home was not. Libertus would grieve for Insomnia privately - he would sob and fight and have many sleepless nights, but he would always smile for Nyx.

“Whatever you want, big guy,” A smile turned sharp enough to rival his blades. “No one’s telling a rebel want to do.”

Libertus winced. Suddenly the weight against him didn’t seem so soothing. There would be a long discussion later, he knew. Heated words taken back, apologies if Nyx would accept them. Libertus would never regret leaving the service of the King. In the same vein he would always regret leaving Nyx. But it didn’t matter who was right. Things like kings and the magic that had seeped away seemed so much less important now. It still cut him deeply. But they had to fight for the future to remember the past, and until then there were wounds that needed treating. Physical and mental, the guaranteed falling apart of a man that needed to be held together at night in order to manage more than an hour of rest.

Since Libertus had left him - that was what he had done, as loathe as he was to admit it. Abandoned him, in his hour of greatest need. Guilt made sickness roil in his belly - it didn’t seem that Nyx had bothered to stop working. Those eyes he had fallen in love with were dull. It seemed a miracle he could summon the energy to only keep them open.

Libertus felt the same. Things in the city has been bad for all and for a citizen the workload was rough. Especially for a newly blooded rebel, and Libertus had not been prepared for the Empire’s attack. No one expected it so soon. Those days since he had left Nyx were long and packed with Libertus’ new companions grilling him for information, judging him, always suspicious that he was some kind of spy. Libertus had barely a moment to rest in the new rooms they had given him.

Moving out of their shared apartment while Nyx was at work was undeniably a coward's move but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing that uniform, let alone the wounded expression on his face. If Nyx would have begged, Libertus would have stayed. He couldn’t take the chance. Instead he pleaded that single room off of his new friends, small and damp in the corners of the ceiling, and kept himself busy. Scouting, protests, canvassing. All of it seemed noble at the time. Now he knew it was all for naught. Whenever his workload slowed, he thought of Nyx coming home to an empty apartment, finding the very last remnants of his old life had abandoned him, and hated himself.

But then again, when wasn’t Nyx at work? Most of his waking hours were on the streets. Libertus had a wide bed to himself some nights. Once he might have enjoyed it. But without Nyx, it was cold and empty.

Life had clearly not been treating Nyx well since. His skin seemed pale, appearing almost sunken in the harsh floodlights of the pitstop. It was difficult to tell what was the torture of the Ring or the simple failures of Nyx’s body through stress. All things aside the bruise like rings circling his hollow eyes were Libertus’ doing alone. And Libertus knew he would spend the rest of his life making it up to him, if Nyx permitted it. Nyx would never have to sleep alone again.

But there was no need for Libertus to weigh Nyx down with his regrets. Instead of suffocating what little hope remained to them, Libertus stroked his hair out of his face. It was matted with blood. A long cut arced down from his temple to his nose, thankfully avoiding his eye. Even with Lunafreya’s innate magic there was little either could do for a ruined eye. “And there’s never any telling a hero what to do, either,” he shot back, keeping it as light as he could. “Nor an Ulric, for that matter.”

That earned him a small smile. It seemed more like a grimace. Libertus imagined he might have laughed if there wasn’t blood streaking through his teeth. Maybe he would have even pulled Libertus down into a kiss if he had any energy, any room in his heart for forgiveness. Libertus could only pray that one day they could at least play at friendship.

Seeing Nyx so lethargic was unnerving. In another way it was pleasing. If Nyx was exhausted and the princess sleeping, Libertus’ babysitting job became that much easier. There was little that a man with a wounded leg could do. 

Words could wait until the dawn. Tonight, Libertus had no patience for them.

“C’mon,” Libertus said, stroking up and down his ex lover’s back. “Let’s get you up.”

The bathroom wasn’t modest. It was barely existent. There was hardly enough space for Nyx alone. Old wood smelt vaguely like rot, musty and damp. Thankfully, it only seemed to be inside the bathroom. There was a sink with enough space to fit perhaps one hand. The shower was no better, directly next to a modest window that was cracked and mouldy in the corners. A spider made its home amongst the showerhead, and Libertus would not go any closer to it than necessary. A shower curtain hung listlessly, all gaudy patterns and unidentifiable smears. Mould touched the tile.

Opposite the sink there was a toilet. There was a long crack across the seat, and Libertus hoped it could take Nyx’s heavy bulk. “Sit down,” Libertus urged, and rolled his eyes when there was no response. No movement, not even a twitch. Nyx had closed his eyes. “Nyx. C’mon, I need to get you ready to sleep.”

“Lemme sleep,” Nyx protested, but when Libertus gently shook his shoulder he lifted his head. When he opened his eyes, enough for him to see his pupils, tiny, like the point of a needle. “I don’t need you to paw me about.”

An underlying current of exhausted bitterness stung Libertus sharply. As much as he knew he deserved it, the pain was impossible to ignore. A thick mass seemed to gather in his throat, the guilt, and swallowed around it.  “I’m not letting you sleep like that.” Libertus forced his stern tone, pushing Nyx up and shaking him a little less carefully. The missing warmth left him longing, and Nyx sprawled like a ragdoll. Muscles and limbs were useless. Nyx’s hands only barely caught his hips, fingers catching in the belt loops of his jeans. Before he could collapse against Libertus’ stomach, he propped his head against the toilet’s tank. It was all too easy to mould Nyx how he wanted him. The plastic made a worrying creak. Libertus paused - but when it didn’t break, he continued. “You’re covered in dirt, Nyx.”

“Don’t care,” Nyx stared up at him, his eyes hazy. His hair was covered in dust and grime, and his eyelashes were no better. He squirmed against the cold plastic of the tank, no doubt enjoying the cold against his overheated skin. Libertus got to work with no further ado, dropping to his knees to take off Nyx’s boots. Making short work of the laces, he pulled them free, throwing his disgustingly soaked socks over them too. The smell was awful but Libertus had known so much worse. Those boots were worn and old, had left tracks of ash and muck through the caravan. Tracks Libertus would clean when he was the only one awake. There was no way he was sleeping tonight, even if he felt like he was the one who had been hit with a car.

Blood had splattered up the pants of Nyx’s uniform. His, or another’s. Libertus didn’t know. He didn’t want to. “I wanna sleep. I’m not in the mood.”

“Sleep, then.” Libertus took the moment to grasp Nyx’s foot, settling his thumbs against the softness of his skin. When he squeezed, forcing his thumbs against the sore muscle, Nyx moaned softly. The pain always centred there. A foot rub was part of their old nightly routine, especially if Nyx had been standing around all day. Somehow, wandering aimlessly around the Citadel ached less.

Nyx’s eyes drifted shut. Even as he swallowed around another whine, he scowled. “Stop,” his adam’s apple bobbed hard. “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.”

Swapping to Nyx’s other foot, he lavished it with the same affection, knowing just how bad his feet must have been hurting. If it made Libertus’ guilt hurt a little less it was only a benefit. He arched his brows.“What’s that, then?”

Even as he sank even further down, growing more and more pliable, Nyx pretended he held all the cards. It was typical of him. Just like the old Nyx, before the pain had worn him down. It made Libertus smile, tendrils of warmth touching his heart. “Trying to make me tired. Trying to make me all easy to control,” Nyx sniffed. “It won’t work.”

“You got me,” Libertus murmured, and set Nyx’s feet back on the floor. He moved on to removing Nyx’s jacket, slashed and stained. That time he found no argument. Nyx relaxed his shoulders wordlessly, let Libertus pull the heavy fabric free. For a moment he leant in close enough for Libertus to feel his breath on his cheek. Sweat and faint cologne greeted him, and Libertus could have stayed in that brief moment forever. Moving on into the unknown felt foolish. 

There would be no salvaging the fabric. Whatever had occurred before Libertus rushed in had been too messy. It was no great burden - Libertus would be ecstatic if he never saw another royal symbol for as long as he lived. Something had slashed at Nyx’s back, thankfully not fearsome enough to cut clean through the jacket and tear through skin. It was simply enough to destroy the careful silver design. Nyx, he knew, would be solemn. The relationship, if it could be called that, between the king and the ‘glaive he had saved was a peculiar one. Death and destruction would always hang like a guillotine over his head, but Libertus only smiled. Fuck the king, fuck the empire, and they would find something new to live for. They always did. It may no longer be each other, that trust torn apart, but Nyx would no longer work himself to the bone for a man who never noticed his efforts.

They would find something else to keep Nyx warm in the nighttime. That was the struggle outside of the city - sweltering days and nights that could freeze a man to his core. No matter how fiercely you burned there would always be something to quell you. Libertus would cast aside most of Nyx’s clothes. Perhaps Lunafreya’s too for a few extra gil. Nyx would scowl but anything that could identify them as soldier or royalty had to be dumped as quickly as possible.

Libertus bundled the bloodied jacket across the room, abandoned on the floor. Then he could look at the skin of Nyx’s arms, his palms.  _ Assessment of your comrades wounds after the battle is done is vital,  _ he remembered the marshal saying. There was little he liked to say more. No point in fussing about an enemy long gone when one of the few things keeping you alive was in jeopardy. There were shallow wounds across Nyx’s face, the more worrisome cut across his temple that no longer bled. It made his face look like something out of a horror movie. Scarlet had dried in his eyebrows and his scruff of facial hair, all the way down to his chin. The worst of the wounds on his arms were scratches and gouges, little things that would be fine with cleaning and wrapping. That was, of course, assuming if the caravan was stocked or the minimart across the carpark wasn’t entirely useless. 

If Nyx hurt to move, he made no sign. His chest heaved. Broad shoulders trembled faintly from the exertion. But he said nothing, and Libertus reached slowly for the edge of his shirt. Murmuring a tiny prayer to whoever may have been listening, even if day after day proved that no one who bore a scrap of mercy seemed to be paying attention to the ruin that was left of their young lives, Libertus pulled. It took some coaxing to get Nyx to release his waist and lift his arms, having to tug him free, and when Libertus dropped it into another ball on the floor, Nyx shrunk into himself, wrapping his strong arms against his weak frame. Never before had he looked so small.

When Libertus touched Nyx’s bicep, Nyx sighed lowly. Too hot skin burnt underneath Libertus’ fingertips and was slick with sweat. The mess was unholy. Every part of him was somehow covered in dirt and lingering debris, cuts around his collarbone and his palms. In a stroke of good fortune Lunafreya had already dealt with anything that would have otherwise required stitches. Nothing lingered that needed her urgent attention, and it was fitting. There was no way he could bother her now. Not without getting into even more trouble with a man who still stared. With even more luck the wound on Nyx’s head would prove to be no worse than a scratch, made terrifying by the sheer amount of blood.

Libertus held his tense shoulders; squeezed. If they had time and any love between them he might have offered a quick massage after, pressed a kiss to his bobbing throat. Instead he trailed down the length of his biceps, along the inside of his wrist, over his hands. Nyx’s pulse raged. He wished he could lace their fingers together, could hold him close. The thought of never having that permission again was horrifying.

“Lib,” Nyx murmured, barely audible even in the utter silence, and Libertus looked up. “‘M cold.”

Fresh sadness haunted Nyx’s expression. Those eyes were miserable and dark, the same way they always were when fresh from a dream about darker days. Freezing grey, the way the sky had been when the Imperials came. Libertus saw the new flush of his cheeks.

Libertus always had a bleeding heart. For orphans, for the lonely, for the broken. There was no reason for Nyx to suffer in the chill with no wounds carved into his chest. Only the old scars remained, stark and white against his dark skin. “Take this,” Libertus told him, already shrugging out of his own jacket. It might not have been thick or particularly clean but it was in one piece. There was no blood, and in their circumstances that was a blessing.

Only Nyx shook his head. Hard and fussy, like a child. He was still so young. He made no move to accept it. “Can’t take your jacket.”

_ Typical hero _ , Libertus almost scoffed. “Take it,” he commanded instead, and it spoke volumes of Nyx’s state that he didn’t press the matter any further. It went loosely around his shoulders at first. Libertus had to guide him into wearing it properly, pulling it around his chest. It left his hips exposed and was baggy everywhere else. It would do. Nyx winced as his shredded palms grazed the fabric, new smears of blood against it. But the tremble left him, and contentment settled into his expression.

“Thank you,” Nyx said, so quiet that Libertus could barely hear him.

When he rose, Libertus touched his shoulder. It was awkward trying not to bump his head on the low ceiling. “I’m gonna go look for something to get you cleaned up, alright?”

No response, not until his eyes opened with a spark. “Don’t wake the princess.”

Libertus finally laughed. Always gotta save someone, even if it’s just their beauty sleep. “I won’t.”

Fondness had him reaching on instinct. He moved to pet his cheek - and freezes only inches away. Nyx gazed at him, expression unreadable. They stared at each other for a long moment, and shame had Libertus’ fingers curling into a fist and dropping. 

“Sorry,” he said and turned away before he could make a greater fool of himself.

Libertus left, closing the door behind him with a wince as it protested loudly. Outside the rest of the caravan was no more special. Before him was the door out, carefully locked and bolted. Every single blind had been brought down. Libertus didn’t know how Imperial spies operated, but he knew he didn’t want any eyes peering into their haven. The fake light of the floodlights still streamed in underneath, blocking out the natural touch of moonlight. To his left was only a window, and to his right was the sleeping area which lead through to the kitchen. Libertus had not yet tested the water. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it came out dirtied or refused to be coaxed out at all.

There was one bed. Already it had been claimed. Lunafreya had sad nothing as Libertus sat Nyx down on one of the ugly wooden chairs built into the wall, more worried about a man who went a couple disastrous rounds with a general of renown than a woman who seemed a little scratched. By the time he turned to her she was out cold, curled up like a big cat on the foldable bed. So small, she took up little space. There was enough room for one more to lie beside her. Enough yet for one on the floor. If Libertus had his way, Nyx would be enjoying a mattress.

There had not a single sound from her since. Still she slept, so calm in her slumber she seemed frozen in time. Libertus hadn’t ever seen someone sleep so peacefully. He shared rooms with old soldiers and the haunted, those who could be awakened at the slightest breath, those who fought in their dreams when ghosts came to them.

Stepping over, he gently rest his hand over her forehead. Hair had been released from its graceful ponytail, curling and frizzy. It had been the kind of style that required a dozen hairpins and the confident hands of a servant, maybe two. Libertus could see the silver simply dropped onto the floor. Under his hand Lunafreya ran hot. Warmth seemed to constantly emit from her. It was cold outside of the bathroom, uncomfortably so. Part of Libertus longed for his jacket back. Another would have given everything he had if it would have made Nyx more comfortable. 

The Oracle’s cheeks were flushed bright. But her breathing came slow, steady. Her skirts had tangled and he smoothed them with care, took off her heels. Merely exhaustion, he knew. After pulling double shifts frequently he could relate.

When he glanced back at her peaceful face, she was watching him.

Her eyes were large. The pupils were small and her face seemed constantly locked into seriousness. Libertus had never known a woman like that. The girls he knew were like Crowe, playful and teasing. They drank deeply and fought like the devil and still didn’t have guts like the Oracle.

“Oh,” he said, helplessly, and her expression didn’t change.

“Is he well?” She asked, voice clear and calm, and Libertus could only stare. Her gaze was piercing, worse than the Immortal’s. “He was in quite a state.”

“He’s…”  _ Fine, _ Libertus had nearly said, but backtracked hard. Fine, even if true, was nowhere near good enough. “Getting there, I think.” Where that exactly was, no one knew.

Lunafreya did not miss the innuendo. Her lips pursed, barely enough for Libertus to notice. Clearly she was a woman of subtlety, through no consent of her own. Forced to hide her thoughts lest they be used against her. Lunafreya did not sit up but pressed her cheek against her hand. Her expression became thoughtful.

“The two of you are close,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

Context was for kings, he knew, but not princesses. Their story was too long and tortured for a near enough stranger, no matter how Nyx seemed to trust in her, and Nyx sat bleeding slowly in the next room. “Sure,” he said.

A smile spread across her face. Tiny, barely existent. “He will be safe with you?”

Libertus almost laughed. They had been together for a long time. Raised down the winding roads from each other, down the hall at school. Only ever an arm’s length apart at worst, sharing the same bed, the same food. Never once had they been safe. Safety didn’t exist.

He would not say it to her face.

“Always,” he said, and the little white lie burnt.

She gazed at him a while longer. No sound came from the world outside. If she knew he lied to her face, he could not tell.

“I am very tired,” she said eventually, in a way that suggested no boredom or dismissal. Only fact, and the search for permission.

Libertus softened entirely. “Go ahead,” he said, and her eyes drifted closed, and within the minute she was fast asleep.

It took a few minutes of fumbling around the caravan to find anything of use, glancing over in a panic when something feel or made too loud a noise when opened, but Lunafreya never stirred again. She breathed silently, so quiet Libertus might have forgotten she was ever there. The bed hardly looked comfortable, nothing like what she must have had home in Tenebrae. But he knew a lack of creature comforts would be nothing in the knowledge that now she was free. Now, she could go anywhere she pleased.

Libertus couldn’t wait to see her beaming smile in the sunlight.

There was a blanket, tucked away high in one of the cupboards. It was a little itchy against his hands, smelt a little off, but it was warm. He tucked it around her slim shoulders before he left.

There had been a first aid kit alongside it. There was far more than Libertus could ever hope for - a roll of gauze wraps, a sheet of plasters, safety pins. Some tweezers and cotton wool pads alongside antibiotic cream and distilled water. Medical tape, bandages. They could have done with some disposable gloves, but Libertus wasn’t going to be picky. It was the best run of luck they’d had in weeks.

Exhaling as he stepped back into the bathroom, he rolled his shoulders hard. They popped and ached. He bore his own wounds. Mostly gained in self defense, nothing compared to his companions, but his grazed skin stung like hell. It could until later, and he groaned faintly. It seemed like his to do list was getting longer by the minute.

When he saw Nyx again, it didn’t matter so much.

The man was right where he left him. A worry that Libertus didn’t even know tugged at him, lost beneath all the other fears was soothed. Nyx hadn’t budged past drawing Libertus’ jacket closer. All Libertus could see was Nyx’s head, ducked down to bury his nose into the familiar fabric. Libertus knew how it smelled - like sweat and panic, but also like their detergent and oil. All the things that reminded Nyx of home, of his lover, all still present underneath the fear. With his eyes closed, Nyx appeared finally at peace. Secure, protected. Safe.

“Nyx,” Libertus breathed, pained, and Nyx didn’t move.

Libertus drew the door shut again. He didn’t even panic when it squeaked louder than he hoped. Libertus sunk back down to his knees, longing to hold Nyx to his chest, dropping the first aid kit thoughtlessly. He touched Nyx as intimately as he dared, running a hand up and down soothingly. “It’s okay,” he tried, and the waver made his words uninspiring. Voice breaking like he was a teen again, he sighed. His chest had never felt so tight. It clenched so hard it rattled when he breathed. Nyx finally pulled back, eyes heavy lidded. The jacket remained close to him at all times. “It’s alright. I’m here. There’s no need to worry, alright?”

Silence. Nyx licked his lips. Libertus wondered when his last drink was. Another thing to sort. In the vague light the blood looked somehow worse, darker, and Libertus was only soothed when he tested the sink and the water came in a heavy flow, cleaner than he expected. He wet a cotton pad as quickly as he was able.

“I’m gonna clean you up,” he promised. “I’ll finish as soon as I can. So you can get some rest.”

Nyx grunted. “Stop trying to sweet talk me like you care,” he rumbled, and Libertus recoiled as if he had been struck.

The silence had always been sobering. Now, it was stifling. “Alright,” Libertus said, softly, and Nyx didn’t even flinch at the first touch of the pad to his temple.

Crusted blood had to be chipped free, as gently as Libertus could manage. Such a dark red it appeared almost black, Libertus dabbed and wiped until the cotton pad could take no more. He fought not to look into Nyx’s eyes. So close he could see each individual eyelash, the tiny scar that cut through his brows. Received a lifetime ago from falling as a tree as children, crying all the way home until he was in his mother’s arms. All Libertus’ attention was focused onto the cut and how things had gone so horribly wrong in a few brief weeks.

The pad was a deep pink when he tossed it aside, letting it fall with a splash into the toilet. He wet another, and it suffered the same fate soon enough.

“Not supposed to go there,” Nyx said quietly, still slurring, and Libertus forced a thin lipped smile.

“No bin in here.” Another pad, and it didn’t seem to be making much of a difference no matter how hard Libertus tried. Another, and another. He hoped they had enough. Their luck needed to stretch just a little further.

“Bad for the environment.”

“It’ll live a while yet.” Switching tactics, Libertus began cleaning from the top of the cut rather than the middle, working until he could finally see Nyx’s stained skin through the mess. He worked his way down slow, working his way through more and more pads, revealing it bit by bit.

No responde. Nyx sighed, shoulders sinking. He hissed when Libertus worked too roughly, agitating the wound, and Libertus breathed an apology. Another pad, no murmured comfort, and Libertus could see easier. Worries began to ease when he could see how superficial the wound was. Long, but shallow. It would scar but what was another on Nyx’s carved up body? Just another mark to prove his bravery. Nyx loved and loathed every lingering trace. Mercifully, Lunafreya had done all she could. Nyx had seemed in a worse state before she had pressed against him, leaned her shoulder against his armpit. Tucked together, she had helped him walk back when he was only limping, back when they were fresh from the nightmare. Thanks to her, there would be far fewer scars.

Libertus longed to cradle his head, longed to kiss his dry lips softly. Instead, he settled for his place between Nyx’s spread knees. He could smell the blood and the cloying cedarwood. A shower could wait until the morning. Even if he stunk up the place, Libertus didn’t mind. Better than the musk, better than water agitating Nyx’s wounds.

A small pile of pads remained to them now. Most were gone. Toying with the idea of scrounging for more, Libertus almost missed the way Nyx murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Libertus’ hands picking two pads apart froze. Cotton tore apart in his too large hands. 

Before he could react, Nyx continued. “You didn’t deserve that. I know you care. It’s just…” Nyx pressed his lips together, until all the blood had drained. “I’m sorry, Libertus.”

Libertus hung his head. His own mouth felt painfully dry. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll worry about it if I want,” Nyx replied, with stubbornness that made Libertus laugh again. It didn’t lighten the pain, but the awful atmosphere lifted. Libertus smiled as resumed, getting to work on Nyx’s collarbones.

He made short work of it, clearing quickly. Nyx breathed heavier but said nothing, head tilted up, eyes cast to the ceiling. Libertus washed the shirt from his palms and toyed with his thin fingers, only for a second so brief Nyx might have missed it. Any longer and Libertus might have lost his carefully crafted control.

Libertus smoothed one of the last pads across the tube of ointment, spreading it as carefully and as evenly as he could, and Nyx spoke up again.

“Did you mean it?”

“Hm?” Libertus looked up. Meeting Nyx’s eyes dead on, he saw nothing in his expression past ambivalence and acceptance.

“You said you were proud of me,” Nyx said. There wasn’t a single flicker. “Did you mean it?”

Those silences made sense suddenly, like a blindfold being whipped away. Libertus burnt in the light. He glanced away, finding Nyx’s eyes suddenly intimidating. “Yeah,” he said. As he fumbled the paid almost slipped from his hands. Libertus didn’t remember ever being so unsteady, so weak limbed.Squirming in his stomach made him vaguely ill. It was like warping. Destination unknown, outcomes even less so. Anxiety made a ruin of him, but Nyx deserved the truth. Libertus wouldn’t be another man who lied to his face, told him he cared before slipping a knife between his ribs. “I’ve always been, Nyx. And don’t you ever forget it.”

A heavy exhale from above. Like a man stirring from a deep sleep, years of being blinded. Libertus took Nyx’s hand, turning it over to get to his palm. He stroked over his fingers, finally, and dabbed carefully. He murmured an apology when Nyx’s fingers curled tight, recoiling - and when hot tears dripped down, landing heavy against Libertus’ knuckles, he looked up sharply.

Nyx’s face had crumbled. Any pretence at composure had long since fled. Every inhale and exhale sounded like agony as they hissed through his bared teeth. Nyx leaned forward, clutching his stomach as if in agony. “I’m tired,” he whined like a wounded animal. Those shoulders shook. Nyx pulled his hands away to grasp at Libertus’ jacket as if for dear life. The wound on his bled again slowly. Red rolled down to his quivering jaw. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. Libertus - Lib, let me  _ sleep _ .”

_ I know, _ Libertus almost said. But he didn’t. Being Nyx was something wholly unique, a delight Libertus would never know, a horror Libertus would never experience. Libertus would never be a man like Nyx, bold and beautiful and unstoppable. He had known so many men who toyed with heroism and none who played the role so effortlessly as Nyx.

And heroes had to fall some time.

“I can’t even imagine.” Libertus pushed the kit aside. None of it mattered anymore. He stroked back over Nyx’s thick wrists, pet at his thighs, holding his waist carefully. All the while tears dribbled down his cheeks, while the same burnt at Libertus’ own eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. You won’t be so tired in the morning. I’m sorry.”

Nyx sniffed hard, and rubbed furiously at his eyes. “You left me,” Nyx said, weakly. Reaching out for Libertus, he rest his hands on his shoulders. Bowing forward meant they rest forehead to forehead. Libertus could Nyx’s body jerking, wracked with sobs. His face had flushed. All his pain overflowed, filling the room with agonised crying. “I came home and you weren’t there. You were gone. I didn’t know where you went.”

Libertus let him weep. It was all he could do. Listen, and hold. “I’m sorry,” he said, again and again. “I’m so sorry.” 

Nyx had so few opportunities to let go. Even fewer that weren’t drinking himself sick or fucking his stresses away. Libertus would not let him bottle up any longer. Every gasp was a needle sinking deep into Libertus’ skin, cold and unyielding. But Libertus made himself listen and remember.

Nyx’s tears stemmed with time. While the shaking never ceased his breaths steadied, deepening. Libertus’ face was soaked with Nyx’s despair. Even so he still offered him the most reassuring smile he could muster. Libertus’ own tears escaped him. They wet his beard and Nyx’s fingers shook as he tried to wipe them away. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I won’t leave you tonight. I just need to finish up.” Libertus’ hands covered Nyx’s own, curling around them, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Just a few more minutes. Okay?”

Nyx swallowed hard. His eyes were swollen and watery, they colour that little bit paler. Scattered ash to the shimmering grey of an ocean, freshly past a devastating storm. His lips were bitten to hell, bleeding sluggishly. 

Libertus leaned a little forward. Coaxing him was a delicate matter. “Okay?” 

Breathing slow, Nyx nodded. “Okay,” he murmured, raw and utterly vulnerable

Libertus committed himself to a rush job. His broad hands trembled as he cleaned every wound -  _ never a healer’s hands, only a farmer, never someone who could kiss away pain but Nyx still looked at him like he had perfected the night sky and it killed him  _ -

He stemmed the gentle flow of blood. Bandages settled over his wounds. With no scissors he ripped the tape with his teeth. The sour taste embittered his tongue. He struggled with Nyx’s prominent collarbones and in his frustration, fresh tears of his own escaped silently. Nyx hushed him, cupping his cheeks, closing his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Nyx assured him, and the warbling of his voice struck Libertus like a arrow to the heart. Two men, broken beyond recognition, having to lean desperately against each other. Libertus might have laughed if it hadn’t have all too easily transformed into a sob.

Then, Libertus was done, and the two of the were gasping.

Libertus wondered if he were ever capable of smiling again. It didn’t feel that way. Two homes, gone. Dozens of loved ones, gone. Only Nyx remained to him now, and that would be enough. All Libertus wanted now was to curl up with his overgrown, show off fool. Feel his warmth. Listen to him restlessly stir. If it was on the floor of a shitty little camper, it would be enough.

Lingering thoughts on whether or not Libertus could live on  _ enough  _ soured the night.

He chased away the haunting with a hard shake of his head. Hair had long since begun escaping his braids. Perhaps he and Nyx could fix them up together in the morning. Perhaps. That was what they used to do, after all. That was how the world used to be. Nothing seemed certain anymore. But he would be there for Nyx always.

“Time to sleep,” he promised, and Nyx’s answering smile might have been unsteady and uncertain but it was still the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr, at larsasolidor!


End file.
